


walking the crooked path

by Inkstained_Dreamer



Series: This Can't End Well [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (but don't tell him please), Celebrimbor is trans because yes, Doriath, Gen, Nargothrond, Orodreth is struggling, Travel, Tyelpe cannot track to save his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkstained_Dreamer/pseuds/Inkstained_Dreamer
Summary: Back in Nargothrond, Celebrimbor is anxious about his father. When Orodreth refuses to help him, he strikes out on his own--but gains an unexpected companion.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Curufin | Curufinwë, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Finduilas Faelivrin, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Orodreth | Artaresto, Finduilas Faelivrin & Orodreth | Artaresto
Series: This Can't End Well [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116659
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	walking the crooked path

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, we are temporarily leaving our lovely little quartet to make their own way through the forest, but have no fear, we will return to them!  
> I hope you enjoy this next installment! :)

Celebrimbor took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked on the polished wooden door before him. A few moments passed in silence. He shifted from foot to foot. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea? Maybe he was worrying too much. He shouldn’t bother Orodreth. Gods, he had had enough to do since Finrod had gone.

But before he could make up his mind to walk away, the door opened, and he was met by the bright, enthusiastic smile of Finduilas.

“Tyelpë!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. “Hi! You wanna see what I drew today?”

Celebrimbor smiled at her. “Maybe later, Fin. Is your atya here? I need to talk to him.”

Her face fell into a pout. “Yes. He’s working. He’s  _ always _ working now. But come on.”

She led him through the doorway and into the room, lit by glowing luminary crystals and filled with tall bookshelves. Finduilas walked quickly to another door and knocked.

“Atya? Hey, Atya?!”

Orodreth’s voice, sounding rather strained, drifted from beyond the doorway. “Mm? Do you need something, sweetheart?”

“Tyelpë’s here. Can he come in?”

There was a pause. Celebrimbor fiddled with a wayward strand of hair.

“Yes,” Orodreth finally said. “Yes, come in, Celebrimbor. I’d love to see you.”

Finduilas opened the door and gave him another smile. “You’ll look at my picture after, right? You promise?”

Celebrimbor reached out and ruffled her hair. “Yeah, of course.”

The door swung shut behind him with a click. Celebrimbor was almost overcome by a sudden desire to turn around and leave, to run back into the safety of being a child with Finduilas, to let the adults play their games of politics and diplomacy without him. 

_ You are a Fëanorian, _ his father had always said.  _ You are a player, not a pawn. Don’t let anyone make your moves for you.  _

Celebrimbor breathed out and raised his eyes. Orodreth was sitting behind an ornately carved desk, a stack of papers before him. His pen made faint scratching sounds on the parchment as he wrote. Everything was calm and still. He had no reason to be afraid.

“Er. . .Orodreth?” Celebrimbor said into the quiet. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your work, but I--”

Orodreth put down his pen and lifted his head. Celebrimbor nearly took a step backward when he saw the expression on the pale face before him. Orodreth’s usually mild countenance was full of an icy animosity that Celebrimbor had never seen before. There was rage in his eyes, rage and something else--hurt. The blue-black smudges of sleeplessness beneath those smoldering eyes made him look almost ghostly, like some avenging being called from beyond the world. His typically lustrous hair hung about his face in limp, tangled strands. He smiled, a ghastly, horrid thing on that beautiful, terrible, broken face.

“Celebrimbor. This is just  _ such _ a pleasure,” he said, in that same, strained tone. “What do you need from me?”

Celebrimbor cautiously made his way forward. “I. . .don’t need anything from you. I just wanted to as--”

“Then why have you come?” Orodreth snarled, the thin veneer of his smile vanishing like smoke. “What cause have you to be here, if you want nothing from me?! Your  _ father _ only ever came to ask favors. But then again, he didn’t come often. I suppose he preferred to use his silver tongue in my brother’s bed, and for purposes other than  _ political advantage _ , hmm? ”

Celebrimbor clenched his hands behind his back. He wanted nothing more than to run from this room, to run and hide from this horrible apparition in front of him. But he couldn’t do that. Not now. 

“I am not my father,” he said softly. “And it is not my place to discuss my father’s personal life.”

Orodreth sat back in his chair, seeming to master himself. “Of course you’re not. Come, come, tell me what you want.”

“My father and my uncle left to go hunting more than a week ago.”

“And what is that to me?”

Celebrimbor forced himself to look Orodreth in the eyes. “My father hates hunting. He never goes. And my uncle never is gone for this long. I think something might have happened to them.”

Orodreth spread his hands. “And  _ what _ do you want me to do about that? I don’t make it my business to interfere with my  _ superiors _ ,” he sneered. 

“Orodreth, I don’t understand!” Celebrimbor burst out. “Why are you acting like this?! They’re your family!  _ We’re  _ family!”

Orodreth began to laugh. The sound grated on Celebrimbor’s ears. “Family? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. Family. I wonder if your father was thinking about that when he called my brother a lunatic in front of his entire court. Was your uncle thinking of familial feelings when he ignored my every contribution? What about your grandfather? Do you think  _ he _ was thinking of family when he held a sword to the throat of his own brother and then swore to burn the world? You have no right to talk to me of  _ family _ .” He strode around the desk, his long coat swishing about his legs, and grabbed Celebrimbor’s arm. His nails dug into the sensitive flesh, and Celebrimbor held back a squeak of alarm.

“Listen to me, son of Curufin: I owe you  _ nothing _ . I  _ do not care _ what has happened to your father or your uncle. Not after what they put my brother through. If it were up to me, they’d die for what they did. They’d see that I can be  _ just _ as ruthless, just as cruel, just as unbending as they are. You are free to look for them on your own,  _ cousin _ . But expect no help from me.”

He released Celebrimbor’s arm, stepping back, his face turned away. Something glistening slipped down his cheek and fell onto his tunic, leaving a dark blot on the maroon fabric. “You may go,” he choked out.

Celebrimbor tried to steady his shaking hands. “Orodreth, please, I--”

The terrible face, now slick with tears, was turned to him again, distorted by unfathomable grief and indescribable anger.

“You will call me ‘milord,’ Celebrimbor.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth and closed it again. All he wanted was to get out of this stifling room, and run, run far away from the seething mass of pain that stood before him. 

“Telperinquar,” Orodreth repeated, taking a step closer, his voice soft, dangerous. 

Celebrimbor turned without a word and began to walk towards the door. But his limbs didn’t seem interested in obeying him. He was frozen, rooted to the floor. This wasn’t fear. This was magic. Orodreth was holding him in place. 

His neck jerked as Orodreth whirled him around, shaking hands gripping his shoulders. 

“I am Regent of Nargothrond. You will bow before you leave.”

Tyelpë stared. Any traces of the Orodreth he’d always known were gone, replaced by this cold, shattered stranger. 

Orodreth slapped him. His glasses fell half off his nose. He could taste blood.

“What are you  _ doing _ , Atya?!” whimpered a voice from the doorway. 

Orodreth looked past Celebrimbor and then abruptly let go of him, staggering backwards. 

“Finduilas,” he breathed. 

Tyelpë turned. She was standing in the doorway, clutching her paintbox under her arm. A tear slipped down her round cheek. Orodreth practically flew across the room and knelt beside her.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Darling, listen. Everything’s fine. Celebrimbor and I were. . .just talking. Here, you want a hug?” He lifted an arm, as if to put it around her, but she stepped back. The arm dropped back to his side.

“You hit him,” Finduilas accused, another tear dripping down her cheek. “You hit Tyelpë.”

Orodreth gave a deep, deep sigh. He didn’t look fearsome anymore. All the cruelty was gone. He only looked tired. Tired and defeated and alone. Celebrimbor almost wanted to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Almost. 

“Yes,” Orodreth whispered. “Yes. I did hit him. Why did I hit him?” he said, almost to himself. “I can’t remember why I hit him.”

Finduilas turned her large, frightened eyes towards Celebrimbor. “Atya hurt you.”

Celebrimbor gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s all better now.” He poked his cheek. “See? It only hurt a little bit.” He crouched down beside her, ignoring Orodreth, and offered her a corner of his tunic. “Here, Finny, wipe your eyes. I’ll come look at your drawing now, okay?”

She reached out and took his hand. As he made to walk past Orodreth, the shaking hand shot out and grabbed a fold of his loose trousers. Orodreth stared up at him from the carpet, and, for a moment, Tyelpë could see Finduilas written in every line and curve of her father’s face.

“I am sorry,” Orodreth murmured. “I am truly sorry for hurting you. I. . .I don’t know what came over me.”

His father would’ve said something cutting, or simply walked by in majestic and icy silence, but Celebrimbor was not his father, so he knelt down beside Orodreth.

“It doesn’t matter. I am sorry if I caused you pain by coming here.”

Orodreth shook his head, his hair hanging over his face. He was clutching Celebrimbor’s hand, as if their roles had been reversed, and he was the child.

“I want my brother back,” he whispered. 

Tyelpë sighed and gently disengaged Orodreth. “I know. I know.” 

Finduilas was still standing by the door, staring at her father. Celebrimbor could see that she was shaking a little. She had probably never seen composed Orodreth cry before, he reflected. He’d better get her out of here. 

“Okay, Fin,” he said brightly, taking her hand. “Let’s leave your atya be for a while. You can show me all your pictures while I’m packing.”

Finduilas looked up at him seriously, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You’re going to leave.”

Celebrimbor nodded and gently moved her towards the door. “Yes, but I’ll be back.”

Finduilas only tightened her grip on his hand. 

~ ~ ~

As Finduilas sat on his bed and chattered about her drawings and the new song she’d learned the day before, Tyelpë folded a few tunics and stuffed them into a knapsack, followed by a luminary crystal, some dried fruits and meats he’d nabbed from the kitchen, and a dagger. Last of all, he carefully wrapped his bottles of elixir in cloth and nestled them in the most protected part of the bag. 

“Are you leaving today?” Finduilas asked abruptly, resting her chin on her hands.

Celebrimbor closed the bag and set it on his desk. “No. It’s too late today. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Finduilas nodded. “You’ll say goodbye to me, though, right?”

Celebrimbor sat down beside her. “You’ll be asleep, Finny. It’ll be super early.”

She flopped against his side. “I don’t  _ care _ .” 

“Okay, fine, I’ll come and say goodbye.”

Finduilas kicked her feet against the mattress. “Can I ask something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you hate your atya?”

Tyelpë sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought I did, when he said all that stuff to your uncle Finrod, but. . .well, he’s my  _ father _ . I can’t just hate him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still angry at him, but, well, I’m still going to look for him because I guess I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t. Does that make sense, Fin?” he added, sounding slightly desperate to his own ears.

She reached out a hand and patted his knee reassuringly. “I think it probably does. It makes sense to you, so what does it matter if it makes sense to other people anyways?”

Celebrimbor put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re so smart.”

She grinned up at him. “I  _ am _ smart. Do you want to go steal jelly buns from the kitchen with me now?”

He laughed, feeling a sudden eagerness to act as childish as he could. “Let’s do it.” 

Fears and uncertainties seemed to have a surprising distaste for jelly buns, it seemed, because when he fell asleep that night, it was with a sticky smile on his face. 

~ ~ ~

Celebrimbor blinked awake and forced his recalcitrant legs out from under the blankets with a groan. There wasn’t a window in his room--there were barely any windows at all in Nargothrond; it was rather inconvenient unless you wanted to see stone or earthworms--but he knew the sun would barely be peeking over the eastern horizon aboveground. As he tugged on his traveling clothes and checked his pack for the final time, he ran through his plan in his mind.

Celegorm had taught him how to track. Sure, at the time, Tyelpë had only been interested in getting back to the forge and his projects as fast as possible, but some of the information was probably just residing in his subconscious waiting for a convenient moment to make itself known. He’d pick up their trail, and then just follow it until he reached them. Simple. Easy. 

Yes, without a stomach full of jelly buns it seemed rather harder than it had before, but that obviously wasn’t a big deal. He would be fine. It was just nerves.

Grimacing at the bitter taste, Celebrimbor swallowed his elixir and carefully replaced the bottle. There. He was ready now. He slung his pack onto his back and stepped out into the corridor, hurrying in the direction of Finduilas’s room.

But before he’d gone more than a few strides, he stopped. He shouldn’t wake her. It was so early, and besides, she might delay him. He was fond of Finduilas, but she could be both very persistent and very stubborn, which was not a good combination given the circumstances. He turned around and began walking the other way. He wouldn’t even be gone that long. She’d be all right. 

He slipped out through one of the disused tunnels leading to the surface, wriggling out onto a bed of pine needles. The birds were just starting to sing, and the sky was tinged pink with dawn. Celebrimbor stood, dusted himself off, and decided now was the time to enact his latent tracking abilities. 

But the skills seemed reluctant to wake. With a sigh, Celebrimbor spun in a circle, one arm out and his eyes squeezed shut, and stopped. His arm was pointing east, directly towards the rising sun. Celebrimbor sent a silent prayer to the Gods that fate would do its job and set off, eyes on the ground for tracks. 

(If he hadn’t been so intent on his feet, he might’ve noticed the shadow gliding furtively through the woods behind him.)

~ ~ ~

By evening, he’d still found no sign of his father’s trail. Tyelpë made camp in the shadow of a large boulder and chalked it up to the fact that so much time had passed since their departure. Obviously he wasn’t going to pick up the trail right away.

_ Or you’re going in the wrong direction _ , a tiny voice suggested.

But Celebrimbor had no patience for tiny pessimistic voices. He firmly sent that one on its way and settled down to eat some dried meat. Maybe tomorrow would be better. 

But tomorrow wasn’t better, and neither was the tomorrow after that. Six days passed and he saw nothing. No sign of his father, no trace of Celegorm or Huan. Doubt began to creep steadily into his mind. Maybe he should turn back. What if his rations ran out? He’d heard there were panthers in some parts of the forest. What if one of them took an interest in him? He shivered and walked faster, and when he made camp that night, he laid his knife, unsheathed, by his side. 

As he was drifting off to sleep, the taste of his evening elixir still on his tongue, something moved in the undergrowth. Something bigger than a squirrel or a possum. Celebrimbor sat up, grabbing for his glasses and then snatching up his dagger.

“Is someone there?” he asked, and then rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Panthers couldn’t talk, and he could’ve potentially alerted an enemy to his presence. He lowered himself into a fighting stance as the something moved again, branches cracking. 

A small hand parted the bushes, followed by another. “Tyelpë? Uh, it’s me. Finduilas. Please don’t stab me.”

He nearly dropped his knife. “ _ Finduilas? _ What the. . .”

She emerged in full from the undergrowth, leaves caught in her hair and a knapsack on her back. Her face was smudged with dirt. 

“Hi, Tyelpë.”

Celebrimbor sat down on the ground and stared at her. She shifted uneasily from foot to foot. 

He sighed. “How long have you been following me, Fin?” 

She rubbed at her cheek. “Since you left. Please don’t be mad.” 

Celebrimbor shook his head. “Gods, why?”

“I want to help you,” she said, crossing her arms. 

Tyelpë gave another deep sigh. “Your atya is probably worried sick about you.”

“He’s not. He doesn’t notice me anymore. He just works and works and  _ works _ .”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to argue, and then found that he had nothing to say. Finduilas wasn’t wrong. Since the debacle with his father and Finrod and Beren, Orodreth hadn’t had much time to do anything else but hold Nargothrond together as best he could. He felt an unexpected surge of pity for Finrod’s gentle brother. Everyone knew that Orodreth had never wanted to rule. He’d been Estë’s pupil, long, long ago in Valinor, he’d wanted to heal, not play the diplomat or the king. And poor Finduilas, who’d lost her mother to the ice and snow of the Helcaraxë before she’d even known her and was now on her way to losing another parent. Both because of Celebrimbor’s family. He swallowed hard. This was partly his father’s fault. He should do the best he could to help put together the broken pieces. 

He looked up into Finduilas’s anxious, stubborn face and felt a pang at how young and lost she looked, lit by the flickering embers of the little fire. He shook his head. This was probably a bad choice. He should just find his way back to Nargothrond and return her home. But. . .no. He knew she was lonely; there were barely any children in Finrod’s stronghold, how could he force her back? And besides, he couldn’t lose that much time. 

With an inward sigh, he scooted until he was sitting beside Finduilas and pulled her down next to him, wrapping his blanket over her shoulders. 

“It’s okay, Fin. I mean. . .I guess I mean you’re not alone. And I’m not going to make you go home. I mean, I probably should. But I’m not going to. I promise.”

She gave a sort of little sighing sob and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Tyelpë,” she murmured as her eyelids fluttered closed. 

Celebrimbor wrapped his blanket more snugly around her and prepared himself for a night of wakeful vigilance. Finduilas wasn’t going to be eaten by a panther on his watch. 

~ ~ ~

“Why do you take that?” Finduilas asked as Tyelpë as he rewrapped his elixir bottles in the greyish light of early morning.

He paused for a moment before slinging his pack over his shoulder and beginning to walk. 

“Oh. It’s. . .to make sure my body chemicals all do what they should.”

Finduilas looked up at him, intrigued. She wasn’t going to be satisfied with that, he could tell. He felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He’d never liked talking about his body. Of course, he knew that the chance was low that anyone would be impolite; though Changing was fairly uncommon, it wasn’t something to be ashamed of-- after all, Eru made Their choices for Their own reasons, and those choices should be respected. But still, there was always the risk, and anyways, he didn’t like to remind himself of the times he’d been called a girl. 

“Is something wrong with your body chemicals?” Finduilas asked worriedly from beside him.

Celebrimbor shook his head. “Oh, no. It’s just good to stay balanced.”

“If you didn’t take your medicine, would something bad happen?”

He stopped walking and put his hand on the trunk of a sycamore, feeling the solid bark beneath his fingers, letting the rough texture ground him. Finduilas stopped and looked at him with wide eyes. There was no malice in her face. She was only worried about him. Tyelpë bit his lip. He’d just tell her. She wouldn’t care. 

“If I didn’t take my elixir, I would, er, develop a bit differently. I’d get breasts like your auntie. You see, my hröa doesn’t match my fëa. Eru gave me a girl body.”

Finduilas raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not a girl body, because you’re not a girl and you’re inside it. So it’s a boy body.”

Celebrimbor nodded. “That’s what my father says.”

Finduilas gave him a toothy smile and took his hand. “He’s  _ right _ ,” she said with conviction, and then they kept walking.

It was silent except for the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Silent, that is, until Finduilas gave an exultant yell of triumph and pointed at the ground.

“Look! Look! LOOK!”

Celebrimbor nearly jumped out of his skin. “Wings of Manwë! What?!”

Finduilas bounced up and down on her toes. “Horses!”

She was right. The prints were very clear in the moist ground.

Celebrimbor threw his head back and laughed. “Yes! Good spot, Finny! That’s got to be them.”

With renewed energy, the two travelers pressed forward. The sun was dipping towards the western horizon when they came out of the woods and found themselves at the edge of what seemed to be a vast marsh. Grasses waved in the wind in front of them, whispering like a chorus of phantoms. A few curls of mist rose from the ground and wrapped around their ankles, almost affectionately, like a cat. 

Tyelpë and Finduilas stared out over the seemingly endless flats. 

“Well,” she finally said. “That’s quite a lot of grass.”

“Yeah,” Celebrimbor replied, slightly uneasy. “I guess we should keep going.”

It took approximately seven and a half minutes before they both were floundering in mud that seemed to have a personal desire to suck the shoes off their feet. The grasses suddenly seemed very tall and very much alive as it whispered in the twilight. Finduilas reached out one grubby hand and grabbed Celebrimbor’s.

“I wanna get out. This place is creepy,” she whispered.

Tyelpë tried to smile reassuringly. “We will. It’ll be fine.” 

Inwardly, he wasn’t too sure. Something, some recollection, something he’d learned, was tugging at the back of his mind. Something about marshes. . .enchanted marshes? Or a magic forest? And there was something about a spirit, or a goddess. . . he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, almost as if something was. . watching him? 

No, of course not. It was just mud and whispering grass and still pools of water reflecting the twilight sky. He began to push his way through the mud again, still clutching Finduilas’s hand in his own. 

He felt something soft, perhaps a rush of sulfurous air, brush his cheek. And then Finduilas gave a little cry and convulsively squeezed his hand. He jerked his head around, looking over his shoulder. Finduilas was staring numbly at something--something feathered and tiny--that was sticking from her forearm. 

Celebrimbor stared at it. The feathers were dyed green, green and silver.  _ Green and silver. . .  _ Where had he seen that before?

With a soft groan, Finduilas pitched face first into the mud, her eyes fluttering closed. Her hand went slack in Tyelpë’s, and at the same moment, another of the needle-sharp darts embedded itself in Celebrimbor’s neck. 

He yelped, reaching up to try and pluck it out, but he found that his hand wasn’t interested in obeying him. He looked down, and found that in fact, it seemed to be swimming in and out of focus. Maybe he needed to. . .clean his glasses? Or had he always had two left hands? 

As a sparkling purple wave of unconsciousness rose in the center of his mind, he remembered, with a sudden and terrible certainty, exactly where he’d seen green and silver before: on one of the maps in his father’s books--a map of Doriath, the Hidden Kingdom. And written below it, in Curufin’s neat, spidery hand:  _ Marches of Doriath.. Avoid at all costs. Thingol = unfriendly. Melian? Unknown.  _ And then below that, in Celegorm’s sprawling scrawl:  _ Thingol is a real  _ _ prick _ _.I was just  _ _ hunting _ _.No cause to put an arrow up my ass.  _

Somewhere, deep in Tyelpë’s dazed brain, an alarm bell began to ring. And then the wave came crashing down, washing all sight and sound and thought away. 

  
  



End file.
